


Taken to Heart

by SorryLadies



Category: Gentleman Jack (TV)
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/F, Fanfriction, Fingerfucking, Flirting, Lesbian Character, Lesbian Sex, Masturbation, Modern Era, Mutual Masturbation, Pizza, Semi-Public Sex, Slow Build, Smut, Thighs, ann(e)fiction, annelister, annewalker, hnng, hunger, perfectstorm, slowburn, thighride
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:49:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21736345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SorryLadies/pseuds/SorryLadies
Summary: On a rare and mediocre night out, modern day Ann and Anne just want to go home. But then, Ann sees Anne. And Anne see Ann. And there's nowhere either of them would rather be.“You’re not the least bit heavy,” she encourages, “If you want to put all your weight on me.”With that, Ann lets herself relax, pressing more into Anne’s thigh. Anne leans forward, into Ann’s ear, whispers, “More, if you like.”
Relationships: Anne Lister (1791-1840)/Ann Walker (1803-1854)
Comments: 189
Kudos: 374





	1. Night Out

**Author's Note:**

> First time writing and posting fanfiction. More to come, wish me luck.

“One drink.”

Anne wasn’t feeling up to going out tonight. Her sister insisted and she didn’t have the energy to bicker with Marian today. She sighed, put down her pen in frustration. She could tell Marian was feeling victorious on the the other end of the phone, likely sitting taller, overly cheered at making Anne agree to a night out.

“It will be good for you to get out. You’ve been cooped up, just writing in your journal all day long. She’s not worth it, she’s - “

“Marian! I said I’ll go out.”

“Okay, it’s settled.”

Marian didn’t know the whole story but knew that Anne was once hopeful about her relationship with Vere before they travelled to Italy together. Anne returned home earlier than planned, alone, with the wind knocked out of her sails. On one hand Marian was looking out for her sister, nudging her out of her house. But Anne suspected she had additional reasons for wanting to go out tonight. After filing through the crowd, through the noise, getting their drinks, Anne discovered that reason’s name was Thomas. After all, if Marian truly wanted to heal her sister’s pain through alcohol and potential, they’d have gone to the Gay Village.

“Aha. Thomas, is it? Hmf.”

“Pardon me?” He pushed his ear out with his index finger and leaned forward. It was hard to hear one another and Marian looked ridiculously enchanted.

“Hello, Thomas.”

Anne shot Marian a look and immediately turned to lean on the bar, took a long sip of her whiskey. She promised one drink, but didn’t say she would drink it slowly.

“I’m too old for this”, she mutters to herself.

She used to go out a lot, especially before Vere. Drink, smoke, fuck women. But lately she’s been wanting to settle down. Easier said then done. It seems a pattern has formed where women have no problem falling for Anne. But when it has come to getting serious like moving in together or marriage, the spell breaks. Besides, she doesn’t want spells. She wants love. Anne knows she shouldn’t take these rejections to heart, that it has less to do with her and more about them not being in a place to be fully out, in a same-sex relationship. But still, it is taken to heart. How could it not? Mariana married Charlie, now Vere is planning to marry Don. Of course she is heart-broken. And this dark bar tonight, Marian enraptured by Thomas, does nothing for the sting of hard luck. She takes a long, last sip of her drink and turns to Marian.

“I’m heading home, you can make your own way back I trust?”

“Pardon?”

“I said….”

Behind Marian, Anne catches someone’s gaze, seemingly captivated by Anne’s hurried attempt for a quick exit. Anne’s impression is perhaps they’ve met before but can’t put her finger on it. It feels as though the room is orbiting all around this woman staring at Anne. She sits at a table, a still, slow-motion beauty in the ugly bar chaos. They hold each other’s eyes. When Anne tilts her head forward with a friendly, “do I know you?” expression, the familiar face looks away, flustered. Anne watches the thin strap of her tank top fall off her shoulder. It stays there, defiant, until she tugs it up, over her collarbone. Habitually, like the strap has fallen a thousand times for her hand, strap and shoulder to dance the same routine. The woman takes a sip of her cocktail and with that, has run out of distractions. Her strap falls again. They meet eyes, hold each other’s gaze. Anne smiles. The beauty looks downward, away. But not before smiling, too. And this time, perhaps for the first time, neglects to pull up her strap.

“Anne, Anne what did you say?”

More and more people spill inside, the music gets dreadfully louder, the air grows thicker, hotter.

Anne beams at Marian.

“Let’s have another round, shall we?”


	2. Pull

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ann pulls herself out of the shadows when she notices Anne Lister throwing back her drink at The Halifax.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I could endlessly edit but I'm going to let it go.

Ann is out with friends tonight, two couples. It’s unlike her to be in such a crowded space - anxiety often keeps her home where she feels most comfortable. They were out for dinner earlier, had drinks and ended up here, The Halifax. She didn’t think it would be this busy but how would she know, she’s never been. As long as she stays put at thier table, her friends busy talking and drinking, she can ride it out until they’re ready to leave. Not to mention the woman at the bar. The one in the short sleeve button down. Tucked into perfectly tailored pants. Ann knows her. Rather, knows _of_ her. In this moment, loves watching her. Anne Lister.

She was a professor at the university Ann attended years ago. She had tried unsuccessfully to get into her class each semester, had heard such positive things about Lister. Students raved about her. After being on the waitlist multiple semesters and still, without luck, she chased after Anne one day on campus. If she had a plan to approach her, she would have lost her nerve. But when she spied her dressed-in-black figure moving along the hallway at breakneck speed, Ann called after her. Finally Lister heard her name and spun around on her heels. Ann had forgotten for a moment why she ran after her. She went from feeling courageous to foolish in seconds. Anne’s confidence and beauty caught her off guard, yet the warmth and attentiveness she offered felt encouraging. Slightly out of breath, Ann explained her predicament, inquiring about the chances of somehow, possibly sliding into her class. There wasn’t much Anne could say that enrollment hadn’t already said: first come first serve, there’s a process, etc.. etc. She wasn’t typically shy around profs but something about Anne unnerved her. Anne took her in so intensely, with such curiosity while Ann stammered on about wanting to get into her class. Anne had checked the time just when Ann called after her, but still gave her her full attention. Ann, gushing, felt like she was the only other person in the world. For a moment, anyway. Anne checked the time again, shifted her heavy bag to her other shoulder and regretfully excused herself, “I have office hours, sorry…” Ann turned her head to where Anne nodded down the hall. A line up of female students, five or six, gathered outside her office door. One of them was applying lipstick.

“S-sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you.”

“That’s quite alright - “, Anne held out her hand.

“Ann. Ann Walker.”

Ann walked home from campus that day, years ago, wondering, “what the hell just happened?” She thought over every detail, every word said, every gesture, wishing she could do it over again. But with grace. And not having chased after her like a fangirl.

Now tonight, again, she’s struck by Anne’s presence. Worse, caught gawking at her. When they lock eyes Ann can’t seem to look away. Ann’s friend Kate asks her a question, has to repeat herself. Ann snaps out of it, embarrassed. She stands from her chair, needs to move, needs to be somewhere, anywhere else.

“Excuse me, please.” Not that anyone can hear her. She shuffles along, squeezing out from behind the table.

“Getting a drink?”

“Washroom. Be right back.”

Ann moves though the crowd. A different song comes on, Santigold. Even the bathroom is crowded. At the mirror she goes through her purse, finds her favourite lip gloss. Muffled music erupts to a blast each time the bathroom door opens. _“Face don’t lie so I put on my make-up.”_ She collects her hair and pulls it into a bun. Ann takes a breath and pulls the door open, hit with a wall of sound again. On the way back to her table Ann pledges not to look remotely anywhere close to where Anne was standing. “Don’t look. Don’t look. Don’t you dare look”, she tells herself. She looks. Doesn’t see her. She escalates from a quick, discrete, side-glance to tippy-toe bobbing, straining to see over and through the crowd. Nothing.

“Ah. There you are. Hello.”

Anne. Right here. Was she waiting? Her energy much like that day in the hallway - powerful and gentle.

Ann mouths, “hey” in return with a shy smile. Anne takes her in with curious reverence. Ann bites her bottom lip.

“Find who you’re looking for?” Not sure if Anne is being sincere or sarcastic.

Ann blushes, thankful for dim lighting. “Yes.”

“We’ve met before, haven’t we?”

“We have.”

“Remind me?”

“We met on campus once. I’m Ann. I was a student…never in your class…but I wanted to be. I tried, I mean I w-wanted to be your student but couldn’t seem to get off the waitlist. I chased after you once. I don’t imagine you’d to remember. A random student hollering after you in the hallway.”

Anne pauses, leans in closer to overcome the noise level. “Of course I remember.” Not overly convincing but Ann feels encouraged.

Ann also leans in so she doesn’t have to shout. “Really? It was some time ago.”

With each exchange the space between them narrows, offering an ear to a mouth, a mouth to an ear. Inching closer.

“Well, you’re not just some random student.”

Closer.

Anne’s voice is lower now, speaking directly into Ann’s ear. “So, are you still in school?”

Ann closes her eyes. She can smell Anne’s hair. She can feel Anne’s words. Her warm breath by her ear, every syllable vibrates, flutters down, through her body. Ann absorbs the warmth from Anne’s body. They aren’t touching but she feels her energy. Uncertain if time is passing fast or slow. Or at all. Eventually she responds.

“Sorry?”

Anne holds her gaze. There is a pull between them, magnetic. To speak, this time Anne’s body touches Ann. Is she aware she is doing this? To be fair, it _is_ very loud. She put her mouth close to Ann’s ear, almost grazing it with her lips. “I said..” Anne pauses, lingers, sensing Ann’s mutual pleasure in their closeness. “I asked if you were still in school. But you likely graduated, long ago.”

 _‘Shadow’_ by Chromatics comes on. A song Ann likes.

Ann gives her a playful look, communicates a defeated, “still can’t hear you” shrug.

Anne reads her cue, plays along. She glances away with a chuckle, then slowly, intentionally presses her body against Ann. Her lips float to Ann’s ear, touches it this time, lingers. Her voice lowers even more. “I think…surely you heard what I said.”

They hover, backs of hands slightly touching. Anne’s lips so close to Ann’s ear, waiting. Ann doesn’t turn, doesn’t respond. Just closes her eyes, stays there. She can’t recall a time she felt so turned on.

 _”Still thinking that I hear your voice’”_ goes the song.

“Anne? Anne, we’re leaving.”

Marian.

Plucked back into earth’s orbit, Anne and Ann pull away slightly. Still smiling.

“Well, Ann, it seems my sister is leaving and I’m afraid this is my ride home. What a shame, I was enjoying our conversation.”

“Really?” Ann may as well pop the champagne. She does not play it cool.

Anne winks, “I guess you’ll never know what my question was.”

They mean to part ways but hold each other’s gaze a moment longer. Ann positions herself against Anne for a final word. Thighs touch. She takes her time, presses her breast against Anne. Then Ann’s lower lip slides along Anne’s ear. Lingers. Finally saying, “I’m not still in school. I graduated a few years ago.”


	3. Wet Ride Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Car rides and thigh rides.

The air is as thick outside as it was inside. Marian lags behind, Anne glances back to see her and this Thomas Beech dude exchange words. She throws an eye roll up to no one in particular as Marian makes her way over.

“Let’s get going, Marian, it’s going to rain.”

“Actually, Anne, I think I’m going to to go back to Thomas’. Sorry.”

“You are? Or you think you are? Which is it?”

“I am. Sorry, Anne.”

Sigh. “It’s alright. I’ll walk, maybe take a car.”

“Will you text me when you get in?”

“Will you even read it?” Marian ignores her assertion, quickly kissing her sister on the cheek. “Very good, good night.”

Rain begins to fall. Anne thinks about walking home, steps back to the awning near the exit. The rain makes an early introduction with light raps. Anne waits and It quickly escalates. Raindrops hit the pavement in a fury, drum on metal, making white noise _hiss_ as it falls. People scurry, scream in good fun. Anne doesn’t mind walking or getting wet, but not tonight. She gets out her phone to look for a car but it doesn’t look promising. Of course with the weather, now everyone wants to snag a ride.

Groups of people stream out. Confronted by the downpour they dash along the sidewalk, rush to cars, or not at all if too drunk to care. Some try to keep dry but it’s coming down sideways, too. The awning Anne stands underneath runs along the front of The Halifax, gathers more people under it’s wing.

“Do you have a light?”

“Sorry?” Anne clues in when she notices the unlit cigarette between the fingers of a soaked brunette. “Ah. Yes, sure.” Anne’s jacket hangs on her index finder, behind her shoulder. She swings it around, in front of her, pulls a lighter from inside her pocket. Folding her jacket over her forearm, she holds up both hands up to light and shield the cigarette. The woman assists, cupping her hand beside Anne’s. Wet hair strands stick to her face.

“Thank you” she tells Anne, after taking a drag, blowing smoke to the side. “Would you like one?”

“No thanks. I don’t smoke anymore.”

“Yet you have lighter.” She grins.

“I always carry a lighter.” Anne winks. “For when pretty ladies need a light.”

Charmed, the drenched smoker smiles. Anne adds, “Quite the predicament: nonsmoker carries a lighter, smoker does not.” A guy in the distance hollers the smoker's name, signaling they're about to get into a hailed cab. Before she runs off she tells Anne, “Yeah, so I can ask hot women for a light!” 

Anne grins, throwing her jacket back behind her shoulder with her index finder again. Someone out in the rainfall shrieks when it comes down harder. Time to snag a cab.

“Anne?”

Ann.

“You haven’t left yet? No, you’re right here. Don’t answer that.”

“Well, if I don’t answer you how will you know?”

Ann laughs. Her friends trickle outside, find their way to her. “This rain! Can you believe it?”

 _“It was forecasted"_ , thinks Anne.

“We’re parked on this block, a little west. Should we run for it?”

While Ann’s friends make their departure plan, Ann and Anne fall into their world again, quietly eyeing each other.

“How are you getting home?” asks Ann.

“It was going to be with my sister, but plans changed. I’m going to grab a cab. Try to, anyway.” Anytime a cab rolls up, people grab it.

“What neighborhood are you in?” Ann’s friend asks. “I’m Kate, by-the-way.”

“Probably out of the way, I’m at Main and St. Paul.”

Kate ponders, “No, not at all. Ann is on the way, I can drop her off, then you,” pointing at Anne with her car key, “ Then we’re all just a bit more west. Easy.”

Ann introduces everyone and when Anne confidently predicts that the rain won’t let up anytime soon, they agree to dash to the car. More running-in-the-rain shrieks can be heard, muted by the sound of heavy rainfall. Anne raises her eyebrow, to Ann. “Shall we?”

In the downpour Kate giggles, yells over the white noise hiss of rain, "My car at the end! The black Hyundai!”

Anne walks a very fast pace, holds her jacket above her head. A mere prop, it does nothing in the way of protection. The others jog. Each step throws water upward, all around them. At the car, arms crossed, anxious to pile in, they come to the realization there’s one too many passengers to properly fit. Still, they pile in, Kate yelling, “Ann you’re getting dropped off first, sit on someone’s lap!” Anne sits in the back seat behind the passenger. Ann gets in next, apologizing about having to sit on Anne’s lap.

“No, it’s fine. And I’m the one taking up the extra space. Thank you all for driving me home.”

Ann pulls her skirt up a little bit, sits sidesaddle on Anne’s lap facing the backdoor window. One hand on the front seat, the other resting on the back. When the last door shuts the silence seems surreal. Rain pummels the car, the pavement, gushes along the curbside. Here in the car the downpour is muted. Ann shifts her weight.

“Sorry Anne, I’m soaked.”

“Well, so am I. It won’t make a difference.”

“Okay,” Kate turns the engine, The XX plays low. “Before we go anywhere I need these windows to defrost.”

Ann adjusts,“sorry.” Her friend in the front moves his seat up as much as possible.

“It’s quite alright.” Anne tells Ann softly, “Sit however you need to.”

She holds up her thin, black jacket. “Do you want?”

Ann nods, “thank you.” Anne drapes her jacket over Ann’s shoulders. It hangs around her, too big.

Ann’s friend in the middle, beside them, rests his head on Delia, who rests her head on the window. Ann glances at them behind her then tells Anne, “They started drinking early.”

“Did they?” Anne seems amused. “And what about you?”

Anne watches a drop of water, then another run down Ann’s neck. Her hair is soaked. Anne wants to touch it, touch her. One arm rests on the door, her other hand plays with the ring on her necklace. She eyes Ann’s thigh slightly exposed below her jacket, her skirt inched up, wet against her skin. Ann catches her taking her in, smiles.

“Me? Sober as a nun.”

Middle passenger halfway raises his head. “Can you turn it up?” Down he goes again.

“You okay back there? You’re going to be stuck like that for 20 minutes or so, depending on traffic”

Without taking their eyes off of each other both Anne and Anne respond, “yes.”

Kate turns the music up, signals and pulls out. Wipers on high, frantic across the windshield. Even so, not working fast enough. Cars swish by, moving slower than usual. Kate sings along, focused, but unfazed by the extreme downpour. The front passenger helps with the defrost situation, occasionally wiping the windshield with his sweatshirt sleeve.

Anne feels Ann anchored on her thigh, mildly rocking with every touch of the gas, the brake, all movement. Slight shifts, subtle pressing. Ann looks at Anne, her lips linger so close to hers, drawing her in. Anne, too. They hang there, close to kissing. Kate hits a yellow light, stops abruptly. Ann is thrown forward, uses the passenger backrest to brace herself. For a second Anne instinctively grabs a hold of her. Once settled she let’s go.

“Sorry,” mutters Kate.

Ann readjusts herself. Still holding the back of the passenger seat, she spins to completely face the front. With Anne’s legs already parted, Ann straddles her right thigh. Before settling she looks back at Anne, “is that alright?”

Anne takes a breath, closes her eyes. She is grateful for the darkness, the music, the loud rainfall, the fellow distracted and sleepy passengers. But still, she reminds herself they are not alone in the car. To anyone listening, this sounds like a common exchange between people negotiating weight and space when crushed together into the backseat. But with Ann’s skirt pulled higher, her body adjusted to hover over, then mount and straddle Anne’s thigh, she is asking permission. Permission to use her.

Anne’s jacket is long enough to hide Ann’s modifications. "Yes", Anne tells her.

With Ann’s head still turned to look at Anne behind her, they hold each other’s gaze. Ann bites her lower lip. She lowers her body down. The occasional streetlight sends dull flashes of light into the car. Anne feels Ann rest on her leg, her thighs on either side. Reeling, she feels Ann pressing herself into her. _Jesus_. She can tell Ann is using her arms on the front to alleviate her weight. 

“You’re not the least bit heavy,” she encourages, “If you want to put all your weight on me.”

With that, Ann lets herself relax, pressing more into Anne’s thigh. Anne leans forward, into Ann’s ear, whispers, “more, if you like.”

No one would know Ann is rubbing herself against Anne. She lets herself mildly, subtly, sway with the movement of the car. With every movement, getting hotter, more turned on.

The car launches puddles onto sidewalks. Blurred figures scramble to avoid the soakers. Wipers keep their beat. Kate focuses, her front passenger makes the odd comment and the backseat drunk couple are close to passed out. If they aren’t already.

Ann’s brazen move is surely unnoticed. Anne’s breath slows. She watches Ann’s body be gently rocked by the car, welcomes her crushing her thigh, rubbing, pressing. The window beside them is steamed. But so is the other. Ann lifts herself up a little, using the front seat to steady herself. The jacket slides off her shoulder. Anne adjusts it, over her shoulder like a privacy curtain between them and the rest of the world. 

Ann leans forward, over the front seat a little to speak to Kate. This position lifts her ass up. “Take a right at the next light.”

She lowers herself again, slowly. Anne turns her head to look out the window beside her, closes her eyes. She feels Ann press into her, this time angling herself so that her clit pushes directly into Anne’s thigh.

 _“Dear lord,”_ thinks Anne.

Puddles beneath them violently thud, casting water to each side. _Swish_. Water drops speckle the outside window. Inside, condensation and steam filter the view. Blurred colours, blown out lights. Anne tugs at her collar. After all, Ann is quietly getting off on her lap.

“Can you turn it up, Kate?” Ann asks. Her voice gives nothing away.

Anne feels Ann’s legs on either side of her thigh squeeze together, pulling her clit into her even more. She feels her heat. Anne fixes her eyes on the outside, away. Kate gradually brakes, rolling up to a red light. Ann, tightly wrapped around Anne’s thigh, rocks with the movement. More heat. More rubbing. Deep breath. Ann squirms, still with her arms and upper body leaning towards the front seat. With every jerk of the car, Anne feels Ann grind her clit against her thigh. When the car accelerates, Ann allows herself to rock back along with the motion, still pressing, squeezing.

Anne slowly brings her right hand under her jacket, behind Ann. She rests it on Ann’s lower back for a moment, above the fabric of her bunched up skirt. Every movement careful, slow, subtle. She moves her hand down to her lap, between her abdomen and Ann’s ass. Not touching, but Ann knows it’s there. If she wants it, she’ll have to ask for it.

They drive down quiet darkened streets. Ann lifts herself up a little, shifting, then down again. Frustrated, wound up. She knows Anne’s hand is close, but not close enough.

Ann brings her hand to the car window, drags her finger along the steam to draw a line, then another line. She writes, _“y”_ , looks at Anne, pleading. Anne understands, delighted. Ann’s head turned back to look at her, her ass slightly lifted, she and Anne lock eyes. Anne’s right hand slides forward, from behind, underneath Ann, palm up in wait. Ann lowers herself, onto Anne’s hand. Anne feels heat through her silk underwear, her wet pussy smothering her hand. Anne’s middle finger easily finds her clit through the material, feels it swell. She strokes it, as well as she can with her hand squeezed between her own thigh and Ann’s weight. Through the fabric she feels how wet, how hot Ann is getting. While Anne plays with her clit, sliding her finger around, Ann allows herself to grind on Anne’s hand, using the motion of the car - slowing, accelerating, slowing, stopping - to move, rub with the rhythm.

Ann clears her throat. “Um, next left at the lights.” As Ann speaks she lifts herself up just a little, allowing Anne’s hand more capacity for movement.

The rain subsides, Kate adjusts the wipers to a lower speed. Still, it is a mess out there.

Anne continues to covertly stroke Ann. Her clit swollen, responsive. Anne looks out the window to keep from unravelling. Needing to keep silent, keep still, is not easy. Ann squeezes the front carseat with her right hand. The car slows.

Anne runs her finger along the side-seam of Ann’s underwear, nudges it aside, waits. Underneath her skirt, behind the jacket, Ann’s now exposed pussy hovers just above Anne’s hand. She slowly lowers herself, easily finding Anne’s middle finger. She slides in one finger, then two. Ann sits completely on Anne’s hand, fingers deep inside. They wait a moment, each holding their breath. Cautious, taking a moment. Anne pushes her thigh upwards, against Ann's weight, pushing her fingers in deeper. Ann squirms as much as she can without it being obvious. She uses car’s motion to rock back, forward, slide. Anne plays with her as best she can, given the constraints. All the while, wishing she could hear her breathe, hear her moan. Feeling how wet she is, Anne herself is wet, too. She wants desperately to have her way with her. Rub her, fuck her, get her off. The need for restraint both frustrates and excites her. 

“Getting close,” Ann says. Anne is startled for a moment, thinks she spoke out loud by mistake. “I’m at the end, on the right.”

“Okay,” says Kate.

Ann slowly lifts herself up, freeing Anne’s hand. Anne wipes her fingers, helps Ann lower her skirt and get organized. She shifts, readjusts, sits sidesaddle across Anne’s lap again.

“I hope it wasn’t too uncomfortable for you back there,” Kate laments.

“Not at all.”

They roll to a stop, pull over in front of a brick house, Ann’s house. “And I hope I didn’t get you too wet, Anne.” To the passengers, she means the rain.

Anne smiles as she opens the door. “Likewise,” with a wink.

“Thank you for the ride, Kate!” Ann pauses, unsure of how to say good bye to the woman who had just her finger inside of her. She looks at Anne, they smile as she shuts the door.

Idling at the curb they watch Ann walk through her gate, up the porch steps. A sensor light comes on, exposing the steady rainfall. Ann punches in her code, opens her front door.

Kate gives her a good bye honk and drives off.

“Take a left at the lights, I’m not too far off.”

“Wait. Anne, doesn’t she have your jacket?”

Anne smiles, raises her brow. “That’s alright. I’ll pick it up next time I'm passing by.”


	4. Homecoming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To anyone who has read, clicked a kudos and/or left a comment, thank you. Writing and sharing has been a challenge for me as it's way outside of my comfort zone. So, thank you. Wish I could spend less time working and more time writing. 
> 
> Other AO3 writers, do you have someone edit your work before you post? I'm just curious about your process.

_“What on earth was I thinking?”_

Ann hurries into her place, shuts the door, locks up. She leans against the frame, lets her head tilt back with a quiet thud. She lets out a sigh. Her home is dark, silent. She holds Anne’s jacket against her body. In a daze she slowly slides down the door, then sits on the floor. She plays everything over, over and over. Everything. Anne catching her gawking at her at The Halifax. Anne’s voice, lips on her ear, the rush these small acts sent through Ann’s body. Like warm mercury dropped from her head, through her body, to the floor. Seeping everywhere. In the best way. How she couldn’t hide it, not if she tried. And sitting on Anne’s lap. 

_“I can’t believe this.”_

Ann knows herself to be a certain way, to act a certain way. Never this way. Not that this is a bad thing. 

“I’m just stunned,” Ann says to herself, kicking off her shoes. “Stunned.” 

It would be hard to believe it wasn’t a dream however, Ann has evidence. She smells Anne's jacket without a thought. She checks the pockets, hoping to learn more about this woman. Nothing in the left pocket. Or the right. Inside pocket: a lighter.

_Flick flick._

Ann stands up, switches on the light, hangs Anne’s jacket on a vacant hook. She wonders how long it will stay there. Maybe it in time it will become an entranceway fixture, indefinitely hanging there. Years later she’ll find it buried underneath layers of coats, a souvenir from the strangest night. Her household’s black flag for Ann the anarchist. Perhaps Anne will come for it. Ann shakes her head. _Light off._ She continues to move through her home.

 _Light on._ Glass of water. _Light off._

 _Light on_. Brush teeth, cold water on face. _Light off._

 _Light on._ Remove skirt, bra, slide into bed, settle in. _Light off._

Ann is buzzing. _Bedside light on._ She picks up her phone. 

_Kate, thanks again for driving us home. Pls text me when you get home safe?_ Send. 

Anne Lister. There were times Ann took the long way to class just to go past her office. She would tell herself, “I could use the extra walk.” She loved catching glimpses of Anne when she happened to be around. Ann would slow her pace, take in Anne’s presence along with one or two captivated students listening in awe. Anne never looked her way. Why would she? And why should Ann care either way? 

She thought the appeal she had towards this woman was curious. She chalked it up to Anne being like a role-model among students, a strong, smart, interesting woman. Unique. Over the years, Anne sightings increasingly fascinated Ann. Her appearance often dapper, mixing gender styles. Her body language attentive with students, like the time when Ann caught her attention. When Anne spoke, the few students who gathered near her office always seemed enthralled. Ann loved her larger-than-life gestures, her poise. Such confidence. One time Ann stopped to “tie her shoelace” close enough to listen in. Something about travels, something marvelous, something beautiful. Ann noticed a familiar tug inside of her - the feeling that she was missing out on an amazing experience not being in Lister’s class. She told herself, “Anne is fascinating, admirable, brilliant, everyone loves her…of course I’m taken by her.” Digging deeper Ann might add that Lister has qualities that she wishes she, too, possessed. If she could bottle up a fraction of Anne's confidence and charisma, she would in a heartbeat. Ann’s rationale for the allure isn't off the mark, but lacks one key detail.

“You just haven’t found the right guy,” Ann’s friends would tell her. 

When Kate and Delia would gush about current boyfriends and fun hook-ups, Ann would express ambivalence about any guy who showed interest in her. There have been plenty, though none who had her feeling anything beyond a mere shoulder shrug. There has been some dating, some sex. But nothing special. Boring, actually. Ann agreed, she probably just hasn’t met the right guy. Another thought has been that perhaps grief, and all that comes with it, has made it difficult to make connections. After all, her parents died when she was a teenager. Ann has also considered that maybe she’s asexual. Totally possible. She would listen to her friends describe intense physical and emotional feelings towards whomever they were seeing and Ann, not so much. 

Now she has a new, previously overlooked theory. _“I just haven’t found the right woman.”_

Ann props herself up on her elbows. She looks around her room then sits up completely. Nothing has changed. But everything seems different. Something took a hold of her tonight. The way Anne made her feel tugged at a part of Ann she hadn’t known to exist before tonight. 

Ann gets out of bed with the weight of a thousand realizations. That awkward day with Anne in the hallway, it wasn’t her typical anxiety. That was a crush. Floating by her office to catch glimpses of Anne? Attraction. And tonight, a simple look and smile from Anne had her feeling more turned on that any heavy make-out with anyone in the past. Ann sits on the floor, leans against her bed. Rubbing herself on Anne in the car? Anxiety taps her on the shoulder. Before Ann can fend off nervous panic, it has her full attention. 

_“I’m so embarrassed, what was I thinking?”_

_“But I liked it.”_

_“What she must think of me.”_

_“But she seems to like me, too.”_

_“She must think I’m foolish, fawning over her like all her other students.”_

_“I’m an idiot.”_

_“I hope I'll see her again.”_

_“She’ll never want to see me again.”_

_“What the hell was I thinking?”_

_“That was so…hot.”_

_“Anne was…inside of me.”_

There it is again, the feeling Ann has been without. Desire. Just thinking about Anne turns her on. She came so close to coming in the car that she had to hold herself back - not a familiar sensation for Ann. Anytime she’s been intimate with someone, she could only hope to be so close. She had been starting to wonder if her friends' stories of sexual satisfaction were mythical tales women told one another. 

_“It’s okay,”_ Ann tells the anxiety, _“that wasn’t all just me, there is something between us.”_

Ann’s breath slows. Anxiety shifts. Ann’s phone lights up. 

_"No problem. Home now"_ , from Kate. 

_"Your friend seems nice. You took her jacket! She wanted me to pass along her number. So you can let her know when she can pick it up"_

Anne’s number. Instant relief. She could have asked Ann to leave it on her porch to pick up. Or just leave it be, forget about it - surely she has other jackets.

Ann thinks about seeing her again. Her breath slows. She closes her eyes. Ann’s hand moves to where Anne’s fingers were earlier. She still feels close. Rain patters her bedroom window. The night feels quiet, still. Like the world is asleep except for Ann. She removes her underwear. She thinks of how wet she got earlier, from Anne’s lips on her ear alone. Ann rubs faster. The smell of Anne’s hair. Her soft, affirming voice. Her deep brown eyes. Moving around on her lap, how she longed to kiss her. Anne’s fingers...on her...the way she instinctively touched her exactly how she liked…Anne's fingers inside of her...fucking sitting on her...oh god. Ann shakes, surges, feels immense release. Deep breath. She folds her legs, turns with her head leaning against her bed. Her hand rests between her thighs. She takes a moment. Then wonders what Anne is doing right now. 

Ann crawls back into bed. She picks up her phone, wishes her friend a good night and copies Anne’s number into her contacts. Phone down. Light off. 

Ann feels content. She lies on her back, stares at the ceiling, listens to the rain. _Pat pat pat._ Sleep feels closer now. 

_Pat pat pat._

Something has changed. Ann feels different, not quite herself.

No, that’s not it. 

_Pat pat pat._

She feels exactly like herself. 

* * *

Anne wonders if she should have asked Kate for Ann’s phone number but she didn’t want to put her on the spot. And best to put the ball in Ann’s court, so to speak, and not be overly intrusive. Anne has no qualms about showing up to ring her doorbell but doesn’t want to inconvenience her. She seemed shy, nervous. Anne hopes she will have the courage to reach out. She got the sense that what went on between them wasn’t typical of Ann. She seemed so smitten, didn't seem to have a guard up what-so-ever. Ann didn’t play games, refreshingly. 

Anne pours a small drink before heading to bed. She wonders what Ann might be doing right now, wonders if she’s finishing what they started. She closes her eye. The thought of Ann getting herself off sends a charge though her body. 

_“Well,”_ she thinks, _“maybe this Ann Walker will be a welcome distraction from my Vere troubles.”_

Anne’s phone lights up with a message. Her immediate hope is, maybe it’s Ann begging her to come over. “Please, Anne, I need your fingers back inside of me.” Anne shakes the wishful thinking from her head. 

Miriam. How very disappointing. 

_“Did you get home alright?”_

_“Yes. Home now.”_ Send. 

More than alright. 

* * *

  
Sometime in sleep, around daybreak, the rain finally subsided. Anne sips her coffee. Water pools in every dip and surface outside while sunlight pushes its way onto the scene. The past couple months have been difficult for Anne and last night, for the first time in a while, she felt lighter and forgot about her scrapes.

Anne’s phone lights up with a text. Unknown number. 

_“Hi this is Ann. It was nice seeing you last night. I have your jacket (sorry!) if you want to come by for it sometime.”_

Anne smiles. 

_“How is this evening, around 6?”_ Send. 

Anne sits back in her chair, content. Deep in thought she takes another sip, watches sunlight stretch across her yard. 


	5. Show Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the sweet edits, ReleaseTheSheep

Anne checks her watch, slows her pace. The cool evening feels like summer’s last good-bye. It’s September already; fall is elbowing its way into existence. Anne walks through a park with old oak trees, getting closer to Ann’s house. She takes it all in: groups of friends on blankets, the crowded playground area, and dogs everywhere. 

A ball rolls close to Anne and she picks up, tosses it up and down in her hand, looks around. “Ah.” She whips it back to the kid with the ball glove. Their parent looks at Anne incredulously behind their child’s “duck for cover” pose. Anne flashes them a smile, continues walking. 

The neighborhood is unrecognizable compared to last night’s weather chaos. It is lovely, lined with old houses on quiet streets despite being downtown. Most homes are spacious much to have been divided into apartments. Anne wonders if she should have a unit number for Ann as she unlatches her small front gate. It swings shut as she takes porch stairs two at a time. One doorbell. Anne rings, pivots to take in the view of the street, and waits. 

“Anne, hi.” Ann stands at the door frame, radiant.

“Hello, Ann,” she beams. 

“I’m glad to see you again. I mean, I guess you had to..for you jacket. But I’m glad. Not that you _had to_ but I’m glad to see you.” 

Anne’s eyes soften, she looks at Ann warmly. “Well then, we’re both very glad.” 

Ann takes a breath, gathers herself. 

A cicada hums along with bird songs. Kids holler along the street. A car blasting bachata music slowly gets nearer, louder, higher. Then lower, distant, gone. 

Ann gives her head a “snap out of it” shake, invites Anne inside. Even so, Anne isn’t certain if she politely means for her to for her to stand in the foyer, or to stay. 

“Would you like to come in… have a drink? Or do you have to be on your way?” 

“I would love a drink,” Anne slips off her black ankle boots, notices her jacket hanging on a hook. 

Ann doesn’t hide her relief. She gestures to the living room, for Anne to make herself comfortable. Anne doesn’t sit, but takes in the stunning, open concept space as Ann goes the kitchen. Anne tilts her head sideways to read book spines, drifts over to hanging framed photographs on the wall, then along to snapshots and portraits - presumably family - covering the length of the fireplace mantle. Ann meanwhile offers her a menu worth of drink options. 

“Water is fine, really.” 

Anne watches Ann reach for a glass. Effortlessly beautiful. Anne walks over, leans on the opposite side of the counter divider between kitchen and dining room. Ann passes her water, offers more should she change her mind. 

“You have such a beautiful home.” 

“Thank you.”

“Do you live with anyone?” 

“No, I live alone. I have for close to ten years.” Ann lets that hang. People tend to have a strong reaction, especially did when she was younger, wondering how someone in their twenties could possibly afford to live alone in such a sprawling home. 

“Ah, I see.” 

Ann would typically, gladly leave it at that but between nerves and Anne’s even-keeled reaction, she continues. “My parents died when I was eighteen. In a car accident. It was my sister and I here for a little while but she has her own family now. Anyway, I inherited the home.” 

Anne listens. 

“Sorry,” Ann shakes her head, looks down. “I don’t mean to get heavy. I know the whole thing makes people uncomfortable sometimes.” 

“Not at all.” Anne places her hand on Ann’s, they smile. Ann appreciates Anne’s departure from the usual, cliche responses people tend to have around death. 

“Well, I...I’m glad you’re here, Anne.” 

“Me too.” 

“I wouldn’t want you to go all season without your jacket.” 

“Yes, right,” Anne grins. “That would be difficult.” 

“Shall we sit down?” Ann gestures to the front room. 

Anne sits on the couch, Ann follows. Again, they lock eyes. Anne holds their gaze fearlessly. Ann looks away, each time with the swell of internal butterfly migration. Ann brings up conversation bits to seemingly divert attention from herself. Without last night’s crowd, loud music, dim lighting, Ann’s quiet home feels especially intimate. Anne notes her discomfort and takes the lead to give Ann a moment to ground herself. 

She asks about the framed photographs on the wall, which turn out to be Ann’s. 

“They’re very good!” 

She talks about her home, her dog. Ann’s comfort grows. She asks about Ann’s summer. She talks about her time on the east coast. Ann is steady, calm. She talks a bit about work. 

“I have some colleagues who have been following the lives of several heart transplant recipients. It’s fascinating. Initially they wanted to see how they got on physically, but something peculiar kept coming up. Family members independently inquired if it was normal for parts of their loved ones personalities to change. It turns out, most recipients took on some strange new characteristics or interests after they healed. Little things, like craving a food they were previously ambivalent about or wanting to learn a particular instrument. Not a big deal, but an unexpected turn with the research.” The more Anne speaks, the more wild her gestures become. 

“One found themselves obsessed with the colour purple. Obsessed! This is a man who would have previously scoffed if asked, ‘what is your favourite colour?’ Now, one needs not ask. Every accoutrement, every household item, his wardrobe…purple! His wife doesn’t care for all that purple but that’s another story. Ann, guess who else loved the colour purple?” 

Ann tries to keep up but before she has a chance to find words, Anne continues. 

“His heart donor, that’s who! And so it goes. Sure enough, within six months or so post-op, each patient had some sort of new interest or attraction. Nothing major, mind you. One might have dismissed these newfound interests as a ‘new lease on life’. But researchers knew details about the donors, enough to know these new interests were indeed old ones, passed along.” 

With each conversation turn, Ann is fascinated. Anne is careful not to dominate, only to ease Ann’s tension and by now it feels like silence can exist without a scramble to fill space. They talk the last bits of evening light into dusk. 

“I love going for walks at this time,” Ann confesses. She lowers her voice, as though someone may hear her, tells Anne, “this moment, when suddenly it’s just… dark… and people haven’t lowered their blinds yet. I love walking around, seeing inside peoples’ homes.” 

She trails off in thought. “I kind of romanticized it but now that I say it out loud, it just sounds creepy.” 

Anne laughs. 

“It’s just, I like to catch a glimpse into peoples’ lives. Or their things. There’s a house a few blocks over with floor-to-ceiling record collection.” 

Ann catches Anne sneak glances at her a couple times, as though she cannot help it. And just now, biting her lip, she doesn’t hide it. 

“I… I suppose right now, if someone were to walk by my place they’d catch a glimpse into our evening.” She looks at the windows, blinds not yet drawn. 

“I suppose they would. And what is it they would see, Ann?” Anne’s tone is serious. 

“I… I don’t know. They would see me… wanting to look at you, but trying not to. Me being too flustered, too nervous…” 

Anne tilts her head, leans closer to Ann. She gently nudges her chin up, keeps her hand on Ann’s jawline. Anne smiles at Ann keeping her eyes shut. “You can look all you like.” 

Ann opens her eyes slowly, almost expecting Anne to not actually be there. Anne strokes her face. They're closer now, voices subdued. 

“You know, I really enjoyed last night.” Anne's tone is serious. 

Ann doesn’t look down or away. In a whisper, exhales, “Me too.” 

Anne grins, moving her hand beside Ann’s. “What did you like about it?”

Ann looks away. “You…you’re not going to make me say it.” 

Anne smiles, “I hope to.” 

Ann works up the courage to say, “All of it. I liked you touching me.” She bites her lip, raises her eyebrows, “You too?” 

“All of it.” Anne squeezes Ann’s hand. “I only wish… I only wish I could have kissed you.” 

“Well, you can now.” 

Anne leans closer. “Can I?” 

Ann whispers, close enough Anne can feel her breath, “Please.” 

At last, their lips meet for a long, slow kiss. They pause to look at each other, then continue. Ann lets out a moan, and they kiss deeper. Eventually Anne stands, smiles, moves to the window to shut the blinds. She smiles at Ann’s eagerness, no longer trying to contain her desire. She doesn’t take her eyes off Anne as she lowers one blind, then the next. 

“Ann.” 

“Yes.” 

“I want to know something.” She sits on the coffee table directly across from Ann, slides her hands to Ann’s on her lap. 

“After you were dropped off last night,” kissing her hand, “when you were home, by yourself...” Anne looks up, “what did you do?” 

Ann bites her lip, shifts to the edge of the couch, closer to facing Anne. “I-I think you know.” 

“I think I know, too.” Anne leans closer, their faces almost touching. She whispers in Ann’s ear, “You were so wet when we parted.” 

Ann’s eyes are closed, her breath heavy. If Anne wasn’t holding onto her hands she would float away. “I was. I know. I just…I got so…wound up.” 

“Mmm. Well, that makes two of us.” 

Anne pushes her hair aside as Ann tilts her head, elongates her neck as Anne softly kisses it. 

“And I did…” 

“What?” 

“What you said. Or… implied. I touched myself. When I got home last night.” 

Anne smiles, moves to her ear again. “Did you?” 

“Yes. How could I not?” Ann whispers. 

“Show me, Ann.” 

“Wh-what do you mean?” 

Anne looks at Ann, cups one hand against her face, traces Ann’s jawline. “Show me… how you touched yourself.” 

Ann’s breath slows with a playful smile, her body buzzes. “I’ll show you. But… I may need some assistance.” 

Anne grins. “I’d be happy to help.” 

“You can start by reaching up my dress and getting rid of what’s underneath.” 

Anne slides her hands up, along Ann’s thighs. She pauses, finds and hooks her fingers into the seam, slowly pulls. Ann lifts herself up for a moment and with that, Anne lets them drop to the floor. She waits. 

Ann holds Anne’s gaze, slightly opens her legs. She moves her hand underneath her dress and gradually begins to touch herself. Her dress conceals her body but not her movement. Anne watches her hand slow dance underneath the fabric. 

Ann sighs, “now… you’ll need to kiss me.” 

Anne places her hands on Ann’s thighs and they kiss long and hard. Ann's goes from a subtle touch to less inhibited as they kiss. Her motion grows more rhythmic as she gets more turned on. 

“What about you?” Ann asks, breathy. “What did you get up to last night?” 

Anne smiles, takes the hint. She flicks open her button, pulls her zipper down, slides her hand into her pants. She, too, rubs herself. They kiss, “Oh Ann, I’m so wet again….” 

“Yeah?” 

Their hands move in unison. 

“Mmm...yes. What you do to me.” 

They kiss, finding tongues, gently pulling on lower lips. 

Ann pauses. “I don’t believe you,” she teases. “I want proof.” She offers her other hand to Anne. Skeptical, Anne takes a moment to register what she’s saying. Finally Anne guides her hand into pants. Ann gasps, bites her lip, slowly closes her eyes, breathing out, “Oh god.” 

“Now do you believe me?” Anne grins. 

“Jesus. You weren’t kidding.” Ann’s focus shifts from herself to her hand exploring Anne’s sweet, wet pussy. 

Anne guides her hand out, Ann telling her, “But I like touching you.” 

“Mmm...I like it, too. I also like watching you.” Anne winks, “Later, I promise.” 

Ann resumes, they both do. Each of them, rubbing, kissing. With Ann’s increased movement her dress begins to ride up. Higher, higher. They both get more worked up. By now her dress has gathered at her hips and Anne can completely see her. Knowing she is looking, Ann slows for a moment. Holding eye contact with Anne, she opens her legs, exposing herself more. _Jesus._

“God, you’re gorgeous”, Anne manages to utter, losing herself. With her other hand, she clutches Ann’s thigh as she suddenly comes hard. Anchored by Ann, close to collapse, she cries out as Ann encourages her along, captivated. 

Anne takes a moment to regain her composure, visibly baffled at how very little time it took to orgasm. She smiles, shrugs, “You’re too damn hot.” 

Ann takes the compliment, kisses Anne, leans into to Anne’s ear. “Anne?” 

“Yes.” 

“I think I need you to fuck me now.” 

“You _think_ you do? Or you do?” 

“I do.”

Anne couldn’t be more pleased. She moves up Ann’s thighs, taking her time until she lightly grazes, teases her clit. “Please,” Ann whispers. Ann tries in vain to press herself against Anne’s hand, her body asking for more. Anne reciprocates. She easily gathers her wet warmth on her fingers, slides her fingers over her, no longer teasing. Anne closes her eyes, sighs. “You’re so fucking hot.” Her fingers move from Ann's clit to inside, but not too deep, not for too long, only to make Ann writhe and push herself to meet Anne’s hand. 

“Anne” she whispers, begging. 

Finally Anne slides in one, then two fingers, deeply this time. They both gasp. With Anne’s left arm she guides Ann closer, from the couch onto her lap, facing her. Ann wraps her arms around Anne’s neck. Anne continues to slide her hand in and out, at times leaving it deep inside, curling her fingers as Ann responds. Ann moves with her motion, rocks her hips. Ann’s breath and sweet moans encourage her to slide her fingers in, out, longer, then eventually with more speed. 

“Yes,” Ann whimpers. Then faster. Ann pants. Her dress strap falls, revealing her breast and Anne wastes no time running her tongue over her nipple. Ann gathers, holds of a fistful of Anne’s hair at the base of her scalp as Anne’s arm pumps faster. She moves her thumb over her clit, feels her tense for a moment, then shake. She is close. Ann tightens her grip on Anne’s hair, her moans and breath increase. 

“Oh my god, yes.” 

“Mmm… are you going to come for me?” Anne drives her hand hard, pumping with vigour. She feels Ann swell, tense up. 

“… yes… yes… oh god….” 

Ann’s energy shifts to letting go. Tiny tremors, then shakes, then surrender. Almost tangible. Explosive. As Ann orgasms she pushes herself harder into Anne, pulls at the hair in her grip, squeezes her shoulder. Anne moans along with her unabashed release, a shared fervour. 

Ann quiets, continues small shakes with Anne still inside of her. They both pause, no movement. A clock on the wall _tick tick ticks_. Anne slips her fingers out and with that, lets out a final exhale. Ann inches up on Anne’s lap, closer, locking her legs around her waist, arms wrapped around her neck. She releases Anne’s hair from her grip, unaware she was holding it. “Sorry.” 

Anne smiles, “That’s quite alright.” 

Ann pulls herself even closer, still chasing her breath. 

Silence. Stillness. 

Ann eventually stirs, begins the effort to move off of Anne. Anne pulls her dress strap back up, over her shoulder, grins. 

“I am very glad you choose a solid wooden table, Ann. A glass model would have been precarious.” 

Ann giggles. She sits back on the couch, smooths her dress over her thighs, pulls her hair up in a bun. She takes Anne’s hand, pulling her over, beside her. They kiss. “Anne, that was… not too bad.” They laugh. “But really, I want to…” 

“What?” 

Ann lowers her voice. It’s cute how shy she gets, thinks Anne. “I want to do that to you. What you did to me. I want to make you feel that way, too.” She plays with Anne’s collar. 

“Believe me, I feel as good. Or, how did you put it? I feel not bad. But really, in case you blinked, I came in seconds.” 

Ann doesn’t stifle her laugh. 

“Plenty of time,” Anne tucks a strand of hair behind Ann’s ear, struck by the ease and comfort of these gestures. “How do you feel?” 

“How do I feel?” Ann goes deep into thought. 

Oh dear, Anne simply meant to say that she was hungry, and wondered if Ann was, too. But she’s taken her question as something more serious. Anne can almost recite her upcoming line, “I’m not like that, this is a one time thing.” Anne’s face drops, her heart poised to follow. Her energy, notably guarded. She’s about to jump in to divert the conversation but Ann begins to speak. 

“I feel like...if I were to die, and donate my heart to someone…I feel like my heart recipient would wonder why they suddenly have a thing for hot professors with magic hands, who mostly wear all black.” 

“Ah.” Anne exhales the breath she was holding, hangs her head with relief. 

“I also feel very hungry.” 

“Me too,” laughs Anne. “You read my mind.” 

“Shall we go out for something to eat?” 

“Perfect, yes.” 

Ann stands, begins to gather her things. 

“But one request.” 

“What is it?” 

Anne nods to the undergarments Ann just picked up. “Leave those at home?” 

Ann smiles. “Give me a moment to freshen up then we’ll go.” And with that, lets them fall to the floor. 

  
  



	6. A Walk in the Park

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey hey. I'm posting without having done much editing. Better than not posting at all, I'm thinking. 
> 
> I wish there wasn't such a delay with this most recent chapter. Sorry! Things have been stressful and hectic, leaving little time/energy to write. But given that life has been difficult lately, it's also a great reason to escape into another world. I'm glad to have this. On that note, I hope you're all doing okay. 
> 
> Thank you for your patience and encouragement. 
> 
> And thanks to my SafD pals for some kind words there, too.

Ann steps outside, takes out her key, turns the handle to double, then triple check that her door is locked. It is. She opens her purse to drop her keychain from a bit of a height. It is meant to be a cute, smooth gesture but her keys completely miss and smash into the wooden floorboards. Flustered, she scoops them up and places them carefully into her purse side pocket. 

Then there’s Anne, leaning against the porch railing like a matinee idol. 

“There must be a hole in your bag”, Anne teases. 

Ann waves away her comment with a _whatever_ hand gesture, and off they go. Anne holds the gate open and without discussing where to eat, they drift south. The street is quiet enough to hear the hum of street lamps. Moths and tiny bugs swarm bulbs in a frenzy. In the distance a siren rings out then fades back into the city. 

“What is it about Sunday evenings? There’s such a particular feeling to them.” Ann shares this thought with a visible pang. 

“It’s true, Sunday night can have a distinct feel. Like something you’ve been looking forward to has come to an end.” 

“Yes! That’s it...like the last page of a book.” 

“Where should we eat?” 

“Not sure.” 

“Do you like pizza? I know a place about ten minutes away with a wood burning oven.” 

“Do you know anyone who doesn’t like pizza?” 

Anne thinks for a moment. “Well then, it’s left on Greenwood.” 

Ann finds herself shy again. And with that, baffled at how comfortable she was just moments ago, mostly naked, orgasming on top of Anne. 

“My friend calls it ‘Sunday sorrow’.”

“What?” 

“This feeling you describe. For her, on Sunday evenings, she tends to feel dread in anticipation of the week ahead. Perhaps the loss of the weekend as well. I tell her, instead of viewing things as final, try to anticipate the week ahead as being full of possibility.” 

Ann looks up at Anne as she speaks, absorbs every word, heartened to feel understood. Anne continues, “I know, keeping positive is often easier said than done. But what if it isn’t the last page of a book but instead, the end of a chapter? With a new one about to begin.” 

At the restaurant they sit in a front booth. Streetcars rattle past, drivers occasionally honk horns and people walk by, talking to one another or into their phone. The world feels quiet to Ann for a change. Calm. She doesn’t feel walls closing in on her like she often experiences when she is out. She feels space, breathing room. Typically cruel fluorescents feel more forgiving. Car headlights usually crash her world like cheap, want-to-be stars. But they orbit their lanes only tonight. Sound levels are where they should be: background noise. 

“I have an important question,” says Anne, smiling. 

Ann’s stomach drops. “Okay.” 

“What do you like on your pizza?” 

Ann laughs. “Well, that is a hot topic!” 

They debate pineapple as a pizza topping and finally agree to disagree. Anne unintentionally charms their server, Jordyn. They acknowledge how hungry they feel and maybe over-ordered. But when their pizza arrives they eat it all. And Ann learns that Anne doesn’t eat crust. 

“I want to ask if you’re still teaching, or working this summer, but I feel like it’s small talk. Which is fine, it’s...well it’s part of getting to know someone. It’s just…“ Ann laughs “...it’s like going backwards! Like we’re starting the beginning of our date now, after, well, you know.” 

Anne knows exactly what she means but still asks, “I know what, exactly?” 

“You know.” 

Anne waits. 

Ann looks around despite having the place to themselves, leans over the table in a hushed tone, “I mean sex.” 

Seeing Anne’s expression Ann leans back in her seat, exasperated. “Oh, am I amusing you?” 

“I’m just delighted to know we’re on a date!” says Anne, laughing. 

“Oh, I...I didn’t mean. I did say that, didn’t I?” 

“You’ve gone red. Yes, it’s official. You said we’re on a date.” 

Ann folds her napkin, presses the crease, folds it again, unfolds it. “I’m not exactly playing it cool, am I? You know, if we _are_ on a date, it’s my first. With a woman, I mean.” 

“Ann, you needn’t,” Anne uses air quotes, “ _play it cool_.” 

She places her elbows on the table to lean closer. “I like the way you are. If you try to play anything, you may find yourself in a game. And games sometimes mean not honouring your feelings or needs, or playing by someone else's arbitrary rules - not your own. And anyway, I like you for who you are. And exactly how you are.” 

Ann smiles, inhales, exhales, realizing she has been holding her breath. Anne smiles back, they hold each other’s gaze. A song plays over the speaker in the corner. Ann wants to say, “I like you too.” But nothing comes out. 

“I am currently teaching, actually. But things are winding down before my sabbatical begins.” 

Ann thinks back to when she would walk past Anne’s office just to catch glimpses of her. And now she just ate pizza with Anne Lister on a Sunday night. Post fuck, no less. She puts the thought of her past smitten self out of her head; it’s too intimidating. 

“Sabbatical? When?” 

“Soon, when I wrap up students in a few weeks. Goodness, that’s come up quickly. I’ll have a whole year off.” 

“How wonderful. Do you have plans?” 

Ann feels a heaviness begin to sink in. W _hy would someone as interesting as Anne Lister would be interested in someone like me?_ She tries to shake it, stop it. And focus. 

“I _was_ planning to travel but things changed recently. The person I was to go with had a change of heart.” 

“Sorry to hear that.” 

Anne waves the sentiment away. “Thank you, but it’s alright. Plans fell through months ago. I imagine I’ll still travel, perhaps in the fall. I haven’t sorted things out yet. I suppose I should.” 

_I’m a moth in her light_ , thinks Ann. She feels the dread again, last night’s ghost tapping her shoulder. _Once we part ways, she will be gone_.

“Are you alright?” Anne asks. Ann’s hand is on the table, Anne runs her thumb gently over Ann’s knuckles. 

Ann musters a faint, unconvincing smile. Before she can respond, Jordyn returns to their table and conversation turns into a tussle over the bill. They resolve to split it evenly. While they pay, Jordyn jokes about being part server, sometimes part referee. 

“Are you heading home?” Ann asks when they step outside

“I am.” 

A city bus lumbers past, drowning out all other sounds in it’s engine lull. Ads plastered along its side fill Ann’s sightline. It moves along, away, then silence. 

“But I’d like to walk you home. Is that alright?”

“Yes,” Ann smiles. “Let’s walk slow.” _Because I fear I’ll never see you again_.

They pass a group of friends poised to get into a car, then realize it’s not the Uber they requested. One of them recites the licence plate they should look for. Anne shoves her hands into her jacket pockets. They pause at a traffic light, stop to say hello to a dog. Ann knows that the Yorkie’s name is Cujo, but doesn’t know Cuju’s human’s name. Ann wants to hook her hand through Anne’s arm, but she doesn't. In silence they exchange glances. Anne is charged and Ann, shy. They turn a corner and decide on a route that takes them through the park near Ann’s place. 

“We were interrupted earlier. I had asked how you were feeling and you didn’t have a chance to respond.” 

Ann catches her breath. “I am, yes. I do have moments, moments of struggle sometimes. But actually, I can’t think of a day more enjoyable than this one.” 

Anne's footsteps, boots on sidewalk, become audible as they move away from the busy street. 

“I’m glad to hear that. I’ve had such a nice time with you as well. Thank goodness for Marian being so annoying.”

They walk into the same park Anne walked through earlier but now empty, darkened. Trees and shadows look one in the same. In a distant field someone smokes a cigarette while their dog runs around. Far-off sounds become muted as Ann and Anne walk deeper into the trees.

“Who?” 

“Oh, “ Anne laughs, “my sister. Marian. She insisted I go out with her last night and I agreed to, mainly to get her off my back. I mean, I DID need to get out of the house but she can be...” Anne thinks better of slagging her sister “...persistent.” 

They continue along a gravel path, footsteps turn to muffled crunches. Fenced-in backyards run along some of the park’s perimeter. Beyond fence lines, light escapes blind cracks and squeeze through partially closed curtains. Some windows display blueish TV strobe lights: dim, bright, dim, flicker flicker, bright. 

“All I mean to say is, I’m glad I ran into you last night.” 

“Well of course, you would have never snagged a cab in that rain!” 

Anne laughs. “You tease. But I AM most grateful for the ride home.” 

Ann smiles. It feels as though Anne should be carrying her books home from school as part of their courting dance. 

“And time spent with you, most of all.” 

Near the halfway point, mid-park, Ann slows her pace, then stops. Anne turns, she is a couple steps behind. Ann stands near a large tree, branches and leaves shielding light from a nearby lamppost. 

“Anne.” 

Her name isn’t said in a way of seeking response. It is just said. To herself. An affirmation. A poem. A thought that managed to escape itself into existence. 

Anne moves closer back to Ann. Silence fills with buzzing crickets in the grass and nearby garden. They hum like static, putting sound to the current between Ann and Anne. It is there again, that pull. Ann leans against the large, smooth tree trunk. Anne steps closer. Waits. The humming intensifies; crickets join the choir, one-by-one. Ann bites her lower lip, whispers Anne’s name again. 

“Anne.” 

Anne steps close enough to smell Ann’s sweet perfume. Ann entwines her fingers into Anne’s, pulls her against her body. Their lips hover, but without touching.

“Yes?” 

Anne waits, not yet kissing. 

“I just…” 

“Hmm?” 

“I want you.” 

Anne kisses Ann’s neck, just below her ear. Teasingly asks, “do you now.” 

Ann closes her eyes as Anne shifts to kiss the other side of her neck. She nods, not opening her eyes. Anne complies. They kiss as crickets pitch long notes, harmonize octaves high and low, near and far. They kiss as clouds move like blinders across the moon. They kiss until Anne lowers her head, smiles, sighs. 

“Well”, she concedes, “that definitely makes two of us.” 

Anne takes this moment in: Ann leaning against the beautiful, gigantic tree, the still night, how her hair smells like coconut. Anne glances to her left, just beyond the tree trunk. 

“What are you looking at?” 

“The community garden. I hadn’t noticed it before. And you. I was looking at you.” In fact, Anne can’t seem to look away.

“Come.” 

Ann guides Anne past a wooden fence, through patchworks of long grass, wheel barrels, vegetables and flowers paired with labeled popsicle sticks. Ann stops near a tower of sunflowers, leans on the back of a storage bin. She pulls Anne into her body once again. She cups her hands along Anne’s jawline, feels Anne’s lips against hers, tongue meeting hers. Ann softly moans. They both do. Anne’s hands grip Ann’s hips, pulling her close. Never close enough, it seems. Ann moves her legs apart, pulling Anne into her. When they stop kissing they rest their foreheads together, breathing heavily, hands moving, caressing. 

Ann glances about, as though suddenly broken from her trance. 

“What is it?” 

“I forgot where we were for a moment.” 

“Ah. You mean, outside in a public park?” 

Ann bites her lips, nods her head. “Mmm hmm.” 

“Do you have a thing for public sex?” Anne teases, but partly in earnest. 

“I..no! I mean, I guess lately I do? Since...last night, anyway.” 

“And what about now?” 

They are surrounded by shadows, greenery. Beyond the garden fence, trees, pathways, a field peppered with soft lamplights and the odd, distance city sound. From someone’s yard a woman hollers for her dog to come inside, followed by a screen door sliding shut. 

“Right now?” 

They speak in whispers, kissing. 

“Do you want to stop?” 

When Ann doesn’t respond Anne pauses, moves her head back slightly to gauge Ann’s expression. Waits. 

Ann is flustered. The longer she takes to find words, the harder it is to say what she wants to say. She bunches her dress in her hand, unaware how tightly she clutches it. Instead of answering she holds Anne’s gaze, takes her hand and pulls it closer. Anne is is confused for a moment. Ann guides her hand underneath her dress, between her thighs, up her thighs, then reveals to Anne how wet she is. 

“Jesus,” Anne whispers. 

“Does it feel like I want to stop?” 

Anne grins, “hmmm I’m not entirely sure. Give me a moment to assess.” 

Anne savours touching Ann. She teases her until Ann whispers, “please” then gives in to stroking her clit, feeling her swell. Anne moves her finger partially inside Ann but waits, feels her warmth, feels her move, chase her touch.

“Do you want me to keep going?” 

“Mmm, yes..please…” 

Anne notices a cyclist riding through the park, along the pathway. “What would your neighbours think?” 

Ann laughs. Lowered back down to earth. “I really do keep forgetting where we are.” Anne stops. 

“Seems we both do, when we’re around each other.” 

Ann looks down, breaks eye contact, smiles. “Same….I...” Ann trails off, doesn’t finish her thought. 

“Is there a 'but'?” There is less ribbing in Anne’s voice, more serious now. 

“No! There’s no ‘but’. Maybe an ‘and’. But….” 

“But and what?” 

Ann searches for words, but she’s at a loss. 

Anne slightly lowers herself to hold eye contact. “Ann, it’s important that….I want you to tell me what you want. And what you don’t want. And I’ll do the same. Admittedly, we should have had this conversation earlier, but here we are.” 

Ann nods. “Agreed, yes.” 

Silence. Anne waits. 

“Okay, okay. I’ll say it.” Ann pauses, closes her eyes, lets out a long sigh. She covers her face with her hands, laughing. “Oh dear!” 

Ann motions to lean in close, an "I have a secret come closer" gesture. She licks her lips, cups her hands around Anne’s ear and at last, finds courage in the form of a whisper. Anne’s smile widens as she listens. 

“Ann,” she responds in a soft, low voice, “I would love to.” 

“Really?” 

“Mmm, I would _really_ love to.” 

Anne slowly lifts Ann’s dress, moves her hands up her thighs. Ann spreads her legs as Anne lowers herself to her knees, kisses her thighs, disappears underneath Ann’s dress. Ann moans as Anne kisses her lips, her clit. Anne moans, too, sending vibrations deep into Ann as her tongue finds her most sensitive spot. Anne places her hands on Ann’s ass and hips, guides her to ride her tongue. Ann drapes one leg over Anne’s shoulder, bracing herself on the bin behind her. Ann thinks she hears her say, “you taste incredible”, but can’t decipher the words. 

“Oh god, Anne, it feels so good.” 

Anne slides one finger inside Ann, feels her clit react against her tongue. Anne loves feeling her thighs rub against her head. Eventually, in a hushed whisper Ann utters, “I’m going to come.” Anne suspected as much - she feels her tremble. She moves two fingers deeper inside. 

“Fuck me,” Ann pants. "Fuck me."

Anne curls her fingers inside Ann, rubs her clit with her thumb before fucking her hard. Anne's hand is so wet she hears it slosh when she moves it hard and fast into Ann. 

“Oh my god,” Ann shakes, moans, covers her mouth to silence herself. As she comes she presses her clit against Anne’s tongue again, convulses against her face. 

Then, stillness. 

Anne gently removes her fingers, slowly emerges from between her legs, from underneath her dress. She rests her head against Ann’s waist, puts loose hair strands behind her ear, back into place. They catch their breath, each of them. Then finally, Anne rises like a ship sail rigged against Ann’s body. 

Ann smiles, runs her thumb along Anne’s lower lip. “Oh god, what did I do to you? Sorry.” 

“Don’t you dare apologize. You can come all over my face any day, Ann Walker.” 

"Here, give me your hand," Ann carefully wipes Anne's fingers. "My dress is already a complete mess." When finished she sorts out her slightly crooked dress then crosses her arms. 

“Cold?” 

“I’m okay.” 

“Here.” 

For the second night in a row, Anne’s jacket is draped over Ann’s shoulders. 

“Thank you.” 

Anne clears her throat, holds out her hand. “Shall we?” 

Anne and Ann leave the garden in their wake. They walk to Ann’s in silence. Ann looks at Anne, looks away. Anne looks at Ann, they smile. Glances and smiles, all the way home. 

At Ann’s they swing the gate open and shut, ascend the porch stairs. Ann searches her purse for her keys. “Ugh.” 

“Try the side pocket.” 

“Aha. Right, thank you.” 

Ann unlocks her door, turns around. They both begin to speak, both pause. 

“You go.” 

“I was just going to say, I had such a wonderful day with you, Ann.” 

“Me too.” 

“Let’s have another one then, shall we?” 

“That would be lovely.” 

They stay on the porch kissing for so long that the sensor light switches off. When Anne finally says good night she steps back, waits for Ann to go inside. But just before closing her door Ann yells, “wait! your jacket! I keep stealing it. Here.” 

“Right, thank you.” 

“Good night.” 

“Good night, Ann.” 

Ann clicks the door shut, looks out the window. She watches Anne walk away, speed along the sidewalk, disappear from sight. As she kicks her shoes off she smiles. She knows she would typically feel low in this moment: alone in her dark, quiet home. But something shifted. A page, turned. For Ann, today is the start of a new chapter.


End file.
